Leyla

Silently, Leyla stood and watched as the Dralan stared at the mysterious ruby-bedazzled shrine that his personal Kathmir Callath presented to him. She figured that the Dralan knew Callath well since he addressed him by his birth name when he entered. Perhaps they were old friends. Maybe that was why he was his personal Kathmir today.

Leyla didn't know what the red shrine meant, but by the stricken look on the Dralan's face, it was something serious. It was only when Callath spoke again, she understood what had him so silent.

"A potential Dralaq has been found."

That statement jabbed into her body like a sharp knife and pierced her until she felt like a chopped cadaver. It hurt so much, she was forced to bite down on her tongue not to let out a whimper.

A Dralaq. If a potential Dralaq had been found, that meant... that meant her purpose would be over soon. If he mated her, he would no longer need a Mihr to feed from. Much less a Mihrisa. What use would he find in keeping a female around that he did not have to use for the purpose of her blood anymore? His Dralaq would provide him that service, as well as carry his youngs.

The realization hurt Leyla so much, her body begun aching all over.

No, she told herself. She should be happy for her Dralan. Thrilled, even. This was, after all, his destiny; To find a mate whom he'd impregnate and so continue on his noble bloodline. How dared she think of her own selfish needs when the Dralan was finally getting what he needed?

"Who is the female?" The Dralan finally spoke after a long time of silence, simply watching the shrine. He still hadn't taken it.

"The daughter of the Lord of Amascahr." Callath silently replied. "Her beauty is the talk in all the south-western land."

Oh, she is beautiful, too, Leyla thought, her bottom lip quivering. Rich and beautiful. And a Mihr, like her. Perhaps even a Mihrisa. Everything the Dralan would want.

"What is her age?"

"She is of proper age to be fertile and attractive to his majesty," Callath continued. He was still holding out the shrine, but after another moment where the Dralan still hadn't taken it, he hesitatingly asked, "Sire? The token."

Grabbing the shrine at last, the Dralan nodded though he seemed irritated. "I will inspect it tonight. If I find her scent to my liking, have my Lathras prepared to adjourn at my command."

"Yes, my lord."

Callath bowed again and then backed out of the room, closing the door behind himself. A silence now stretched between them wherein Leyla couldn't move - couldn't breathe.

A Dralaq... None of them said it out loud, but the echo in the room spoke for itself.

A Dralaq. A Dralaq. A Dralaq.

Finally, the Dralan sighed and looked down at the shrine in his hand. He traced his fingers over the embezzled rubies that were the same shade of red as blood. "A Dralaq at last..."

Hearing the words get spoken hurt as well. Leyla bit down the pain and rejection and masked her voice as well as she could. "M-my Lord?"

He looked up as if only just remembering she was there. "Mihrisa." His attention then zoned in solely on her and he walked up to her. He lifted one hand to her cheek, but she flinched at his touch. She did not feel that it was hers to feel anymore. Not when it would soon belong to someone else.

He obviously noticed. He grabbed her chin hard and forced her to look at him. "What was that?"

Leyla quickly swallowed and closed her eyes. He couldn't know. She was never supposed to fall for him and this wasn't how he should find out. "N-nothing, my lord."

"It better not be. Even if the female in question could become my kingdom's future Dralaq, I will still need your services right up until the ceremony. It could be months from now. You will not leave my side until the final vow has been spoken."

Leyla looked away from him, feeling cold after his harsh words. She was to be trapped with him while he courted another female, forced to watch, and then give him her blood at the end of the day. The mere thought made her chest pang with excruciating agony. "As you wish, my lord..."

He let out a low growl. "I do not like the tone of your voice, female. You sound ungrateful."

Sweet Miss, she did, didn't she? She was purely thinking of herself when she shouldn't. His fortune was her misfortune, but she could not show that it fazed her. She had to be happy for him. "F-forgive me, your majesty. I-I did not mean to o-offend you."

"Get on your knees." The order was gnashed out through gritted teeth.

Now shaking, Leyla let herself drop to her knees once again, not daring to look anywhere but the floor. When she was face to face with his hips, she noticed that he was still semi-erect from before. It made her gulp. What did he want from her now? She feared the worst.

But then his hand appeared in her sight. "Apologize."

Exhaling silently and relieved, Leyla dipped her head and obediently pressed her lips to the red ring on his middle finger, letting her lips stay there for exactly two seconds. She then pulled back and bowed her head. "I beg your forgiveness, your majesty. I am sorry."

"Never offend me again," The Dralan's voice growled above her. "You are but my servant, Mihrisa. My happiness is yours, do you understand?"

"Y-yes, my lord."

"Good. Don't forget it."

With that, he wheeled around on his foot and stormed out, throwing the door open. Leyla cringed.

She didn't know what to do anymore.

Dohmenic

He was pacing back and forth in his study, running his hand through his hair. His cock was throbbing again, awake and demanding attention. Unfortunately his cock had an opponent, one that was glinting at him from his desk.

He glared at the red shrine. The token.

When he had approached Merram the day before the Bhrakla Aurora and assigned him the task of finding him a suitable Dralaq, he didn't think it would happen this fast. He didn't think merely days after the agreement was made, a potential candidate would show up. What were the odds?

Damn him, he should be nothing but happy. This was what he had prayed for - asked The Blithesome Miss for for years. She had now mercifully given it to him, and yet here he was, his thoughts gathered on the Mihrisa who was in his chambers and not on the one who could become his Dralaq.

He had lost it. Every wakening moment, he thought of her. Wanted her. Dreamed of her. Fantasied about her.

It had never been like this before with any of the other Mihrs he had fed from. Perhaps it had been because he had enjoyed the advantage of eating from their loins. He could do no such thing with his Mihrisa and that was what was driving him insane.

He longed for her. Craved her. Wanted to know what she tasted like down there. In there. Up there. Everywhere.

How he wished he could. How he wished he could make her his Dralaq. It would make things so much easier. She would satisfy his needs, her divine blood would fill his veins for the rest of his life, he would impregnate her and she would carry his youngs, birth him healthy, strong males.

But she wouldn't. His Mihrisa's blood, however pure it was, was the blood of a Bahk. A simple peasant. She had no nobility, no strong bloodline that could match with his. If she were to become his Dralaq, what would the people think? If he, their wise, strong and powerful Dralan, the most powerful vampire in the world, mated a Bahk, what would they say about him?

They would say he had grown weak. Succumbed to love. Instead of choosing for the good of his people, he turned selfish and let himself grow weak for a female with blood of a Bahk. That he had let a simple female get the better of his strong mind and rendered him numb in her presence.

That was no condition for a male, much less a Dralan. He should always be strong, always be the most dominant male in the whole of his kingdom. As should his sons.

If his Mihrisa birthed him sons, they would have her peasant blood in their veins. Was that the strong warrior the people wanted to trust on the battlefield? Someone with half royal blood and half Bahk blood? Would they trust them to win their wars or would they see them as weak?

No son of his could ever be seen as weak. They were his offspring, therefore a reflection of how powerful a male he was; they had his genes and his blood, and it was their job to live up to his reign. Would they ever be able to do that if he chose their mother to be a Bahk?

The answer was clear. The people would abandon him and Phlague would thrive in his downfall. Was one female enough to risk all that? 

No.

No matter how much he wanted her to bare his youngs, she would never sit on the throne with him. She was a Bahk and he was the Dralan.

And the kingdom was his first priority.

Sighing deeply, the Dralan rubbed his face and glared at the shrine again. He should just get it over with. Smell the damn thing. He might actually find that he liked it. Maybe he would love it.

Yeah. Come to think of it, maybe that handkerchief could make him forget about his Mihrisa, the one whom had knelt before him and obediently kissed his hand and begged his forgive at his feet so pliantly, it had made him want to unbuckle his pants and have her kiss his c--

Sweet Miss, stop yourself, he thought, growling at his thoughts. In two quick strides, he stood in front of the shrine, yanked it opened and took the handkerchief. He brought it to his nose and inhaled.

Orchids. The female bathed her skin in orchids, he could tell. It made her blood smell like it. It didn't overpower the true nature of her blood which filled his lungs with the purity of it.

She indeed was a Mihrisa. How pure the blood scent was. That made her an equal competition to his current Mihrisa.

What was he thinking? There was no competition at all. His Mihrisa had no funds, no riches to contribute to his kingdom with. She was a mere commoner, a poor peasant, a dirty servant; She worked on her knees and slaved with her hands.

And if that idea didn't turn him on as crazy.

He could just picture her there, on his floor, scrubbing it. Back and forth, back and forth... and then he'd come up to her, grab her by her hips, have her skirts above her in an instance and be snug inside her temple before the second ran out. He'd fuck her right there on the floor like the animal breed that they were and she was going to love it.

He shut his eyes and felt how his erection throbbed again, tested the stretchiness of his breeches. Thank the Miss he wasn't wearing a codpiece. That would have hurt much more.

He needed to stop thinking about her. People always wanted what they couldn't have, this was just another case of that. Once this obsession he had with her passed, he would return to his normal self and do the right thing instead of pining over a Bahk. A beautiful one.

Sighing, he forced his mind to return to the matter at hand - quite literally. He still held the token in his hand, watching the delicate blooddots on the white handkerchief create a random pattern.

He knew what he had to do, even if it pained him. He had vowed to always serve his kingdom above his own needs - as any Dralan worth his title should; Without their survival, his own didn't exist.

So it was decided; He would have to meet this potential Dralaq in person to judge if she was indeed a worthy female for him. That meant a dangerous trip waited ahead, not only for him, but for his Mihrisa. Amascahr laid south of Plagahris, the city and mountain fortress wherein his nemesis Phlague resided. Traveling there could prove to be risky, but there was nothing he wouldn't do to ensure the continuation of his kingdom.

And besides, he wasn't scared. He was the Dralan and it was his kingdom. He could go where ever he wanted and sure as hell wouldn't cower away just because some deranged male threatened to take it from him. He would kill Phlague if he so much as came near him or his Mihrisa.

- His beautiful Mihrisa whom would have the biggest bullseye on her back the minute she left these palace walls.

Sighing heavily again, the Dralan sat down on the edge of his table and rubbed his face once more.

"Dear Miss, see mercy on her fate," He silently prayed in the Old Language. "And so by thine name, I shall do what thou want; I shall mate this Dralaq and protect my people."